Snowflakes in the Night
by yumi michiyo
Summary: An AU set in 1830s Paris. Anna, an aspiring opera singer, meets a young woman named Elsa who helps her work towards her dream. But nothing is as clear as it seems, and Elsa is hiding something... and just who is the mysterious Phantom lurking behind everything? Based heavily on Gaston Leroux's original novel, The Phantom of the Opera.
1. Setting

**Author's Note:** Heavily inspired by Gaston Leroux's (no, not Andrew Lloyd Webber) _Le Fantôme de l'Opéra_. As such, I own next to nothing.

My thoughts and further notes can be found on my tumblr.

* * *

_Prologue_

Once upon a time, in a small village in the icy North, there lived a little orphan girl, who was beautiful, kind and good. She lived in a little hut in the mountains by herself, but she never longed for company.

She had one precious possession in the world; a pendant left to her by her parents that had been handed down for generations through the family.

Her beauty and her kindness were known near and far; when she grew to adulthood, suitors from all over the land came to seek her hand in marriage.

But she rejected them all; there were a myriad of reasons why they were unsuitable. Discouraged, the stream of young men soon dried up.

One day, there came a mysterious suitor to the young woman's home. Whether she accepted him or not, no one knows; because the very next day, she had vanished, never to be seen again...

* * *

_Paris, France, 1850_

The Paris Opera House is a building with a rich history; the halls echo with the ghosts of legendary singers, wondrous performances, and long-forgotten patrons. But like all places with a long history, it has a dark and mysterious past.

One of the most popular tales associated with the theatre tells of a mysterious opera performed only once and never completed. The star of the performance vanished at the climax of the show and was never seen again.

The young actress herself was at the height of her brief career, having risen from obscurity to become the leading soprano at the Opera House.

She, and the playscript, vanished; their whereabouts remain unknown to this day.

A being known only as the Phantom is always associated with these fragments of stories, its true connection with the tragic events also a mystery.

* * *

_Fifteen years earlier_

The Paris Opera House was abuzz with activity today.

First of all, the leading tenor Hans Magnussen (the _prima donna_, they sniggered behind his back) was throwing another tantrum. That was a normal occurrence in the theatre. Hans complained if his suits were not immaculately pressed, his dressing room had its velvet slippers a degree out of alignment, or if his personal spotlight was not bright enough.

He was a brilliant singer and wonderful actor, however, and the previous owners of the Opera House had been obliged to pander to his every whim and fancy.

Today, however, there was a very particular reason for this tantrum.

"You're canceling my opera?" bellowed Hans, his red hair practically ablaze in his fury.

Monsieur Weselton, the new owner of the Opera House, didn't bat an eyelid. "My dear boy, please calm down," he said in a clipped German accent. "We are merely postponing it. We would never think of replacing you as the star of this theatre – "

"It's not me you intend to replace," he sneered, taking out a crumpled paper with a shaking hand, "but my entire production. Monsieur Bonchard had no objections to staging my opera – "

" – Monsieur Bonchard is no longer the owner of this theatre." The tiny man twirled the end of his moustache. "_I _am."

Hans drew himself up to his fullest height, staring down the length of his nose at Weselton. "You cannot cancel at this late juncture. The plans have been made, we are in the middle of rehearsals – "

"Monsieur Magnussen, I hardly think the Opera House can afford the budget you propose," he said dryly. "Bonchard might have been content to turn a blind eye to the Opera House's finances, but I, for one, am not inclined to fritter those precious resources away."

* * *

Kristoff snorted as he watched the entire show from the safe haven of the lights rigging.

"What's all the commotion about?"

He looked up and waved a hand in greeting. "Oh. Hi, Anna," the young man said with a shrug. "The usual. Hans is fighting with the new owner, but it's serious this time; it seems like _The Thirteenth Prince_ won't be staged after all..."

"Ooh, really?" Anna peered down. "Is it getting interesting yet – wait, what? Cancelled? Why?"

"Money, what else?" Kristoff snorted. "Always money. People cheating other people, people stealing... When I've saved up a bit more, I'm moving back home to Norway –"

"– and setting up an ice business, because the frozen North needs ice," completed Anna. "I know."

She grinned suddenly at the grumpy expression he wore. "I'm kidding, Kristoff."

A loud exclamation from below drew their attention back to the heated argument.

Anna couldn't help but be amused by the tiny, animated man who was holding his own against Hans. The previous owner, a dimunitive Frenchman, had been physically chased from the premises after forgetting to supply Hans' dressing room with his favourite sandwiches. She had laughed for an entire week after seeing that.

"It looks like this guy is made of sterner stuff," said Kristoff admiringly.

She nodded. "Too bad for Hans."

* * *

Anna Nordheim was barely sixteen when her father, a violinist of some repute, died suddenly in Paris, leaving his only daughter alone.

Luckily, the stage master of the Opera House, a grizzled man whom everyone called Pabbie (his real name unknown), had known her father from when he had performed there years before. He gladly agreed to take Anna in at the theatre; she was pleasant enough, and would be a welcome addition to the chorus line.

Or so he thought.

The only problem was that the girl was chronically clumsy.

The dance mistress, Bulda, had her hands full with the young girl.

And so, most of the time, Anna helped out around the Opera House, running errands for crew members.

Her only friend in the Opera House was Kristoff, whom she had known from a shared early childhood in Norway. His late parents had also known Pabbie, and he had been offered a place at the theatre as well.

* * *

Kristoff pointed at the tiny man standing opposite Hans. "Pabbie told me the new owner's name is Weselton."

Anna giggled. "He's… pretty short, even for a man in heels."

"So far the only thing I like about him is that he's not bending over backwards for Hans."

She didn't reply, gazing down at the stage. Hans might be an unpleasant person offstage, but when he sang, it seemed like nothing else in the world mattered. Anna sighed.

Her friend grinned. "Starstruck, are you?" he said, nudging her arm. "Didn't know you liked heels that much…" Anna rolled her eyes and punched him – not hard enough to bruise.

"Shush. I can't hear what they're saying." She leaned forward on the rigging, watching the men argue.

* * *

Below the pair, Hans took a deep breath. "Fine," he hissed. "If that's what you wish, Monsieur _Weaseltown_, I will save you the trouble! You can put on whatever production you please, because I will not be a part of it!"

Weselton's jaw dropped open.

"But – but – Monsieur Magnussen! Hans!"

The young man harrumphed loudly, and still in his king's costume, marched backstage.

Kristoff whistled. "Hans leaving? That's new…"

"That's not a good thing. We'll all have to put up with his sulking for the next few weeks."

"If the theatre survives that long."

Anna bit her lip. The only reason the Opera House had changed hands so frequently was its financial difficulties; there were few men rich enough to afford the investment, and fewer still foolhardy enough to go through with it.

Without Hans, there would be no performance; and without a performance, the Opera House might not last those few weeks.

And she and Kristoff would be alone again without a place to go.

The strawberry-blonde started off. "Hey, where're you going?" Kristoff called after her.

"After Hans," she called back.

"What? That's crazy. You know that's crazy, right?" Nevertheless, he still followed her down the ladder and through the labyrinthine passageways of the theatre.

Anna's jaw was set in determination; she knew she had to do something to save her and Kristoff's home.

But she knew Hans was a capricious person who only cared about himself. She couldn't possibly appeal to his conscience.

And so she would play the only trump card she had; her music teacher.

* * *

The fact Anna took singing lessons was a carefully-guarded secret, not even known to Kristoff; the circumstances under which the arrangement happened were even more bizarre.

Sent away in disgrace (after a particularly disastrous afternoon in which she single-handedly brought down the backdrop on top of the dancers), she glumly retreated to the rooftop of the theatre.

Hunched up under her facourite sont gargoyle, Anna drew her knees to her chest. "I can't do anything right," she mumbled into the fabric of her skirt, her voice thick with tears. "I can't dance, I can't act, I can't sing…"

She sniffed loudly – and then paused. Singing. Someone was singing on the roof…

Anna looked up, turning her head this way and that, searching for the source of the music. It was beautiful, the voice… a woman's, rich like melted honey. Melodious.

Like a dog following a scent, the young girl walked in a trance in the direction of the music – and turning a corner, spotted a young woman, dressed all in black, seated against a carved stone gargoyle, singing to herself. Her blonde hair was confined in a severe bun.

Anna stood, enraptured, as the young woman sang on, too lost in the music to notice her audience.

When the last notes of the song died away, Anna began to clap. "That was amazing."

The young woman made a squeaking sound and jumped so badly, she nearly fell off the building. Anna had a miniature heart attack.

"I – I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you…" she said hastily, stumbling forward.

"No, it's fine," gasped the other girl. "I wasn't expecting anyone up here at this time…"

"Sorry to disturb you," said Anna, nervously tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "I'll just leave, then…"

"I – no! Please stay!" The young woman scrambled to her feet in her haste. "It's fine. I – I don't mind having you around."

"Oh." They smiled awkwardly at one another.

Anna spoke first. "Uhm – you sing wonderfully."

The young woman looked surprised. "Thank you," she said with a shy smile.

And just like that, Anna found herself babbling. "Like seriously, where did you learn to sing like that? That was amazing, you ought to be onstage. Do you watch the operas here? I seriously think you're good enough to perform here. You can be the new top star, Hans won't like it though, he's supposed to be the top star here – "

"Thank you," she interjected firmly, cutting off the ramble; nevertheless, the girl's cheeks were a little pink.

"I – did it again, huh."

"Come again?"

Anna slumped on the stone balustrade. "Bulda says I let my mouth run away with myself. I just go on and on and on and it doesn't stop, I say whatever comes to mind and – oh god. I should stop talking. Yes."

Her companion giggled, a delicate hand over her mouth. "It doesn't bother me at all. It's rather cute, actually."

"Really?"

"Yes."

The strawberry-blonde grinned and stuck out her hand. "I'm Anna."

"Elsa," said the blonde girl, hesitating for the briefest instant before shaking the proffered hand.

"So..." Elsa said, "do you come up here often?"

"Yes! I mean, it's quiet. I come up here for the fresh air and when things get too much down there." Anna leaned over the balcony; the setting sun framed her twin braids, so her auburn hair glowed like flames. "I came here when my father died. It's not much, but it's home."

"I'm sorry," said Elsa.

"Don't be. I've gotten used to it."

She turned around, perching on the balcony. "Besides meeting strangers on rooftops, what do you do, Elsa?"

She smiled. "I live with my mother near here. I love the opera, but I can't afford the tickets. I know this secret passage up here, so I come up here and watch the lights, and if I keep quiet, I can hear them sing…"

"Really? That sounds amazing."

"It is…" Elsa shot her a funny look. "You sing too, don't you?"

Anna nearly fell off the balcony in shock. "Wait, what?"

"I didn't mention it earlier, but I think I've seen you up here a few times before...?"

Anna blushed deep crimson; sometimes late at night, she would come up here when no one was around and sing some of the songs she'd learned from watching the rehearsals. Sometimes she'd act out some of her favourite scenes. The stone gargoyles were willing co-stars and props, but most of the time they made an appreciative audience, their tumultuous applause ringing in Anna's head.

"You heard me…?" she squeaked.

"Yes. I think you have a lovely voice."

Anna went an even deeper shade of crimson that must have affected her coordination somewhat, because in an effort to keep from toppling backward over the balcony, she stumbled forwards into Elsa's body.

They froze for a moment, and then fell over, Anna practically sprawled on top of the other girl.

"Erk," said Anna.

"Eeek," said Elsa.

The auburn-haired girl was up in an instant, hands clasped together in mortification. "Oh gosh oh gosh I-am-so-sorry! Here, let me help you up…"

"No, I'm fine…"

They retreated to an appropriate distance from each other. Anna buried her face in her hands. "If you want to leave now, please do, so I can die of embarrassment in peace..."

There was no reply for a while; she peeped from between her fingers to check if Elsa had really taken her at her word.

The blonde girl was still standing there, looking as though she was trying her best not to laugh, her hand clamped over her mouth.

"You're really something, Anna," she said at last.

"Thanks, I think..."

Elsa brushed some dust off her skirt. "Uhm. Well. If you want, I could give you singing lessons."

Anna gaped at her, her mouth opening and closing like a fish.

Elsa nervously continued, taking the other girl's reaction as encouragement to continue. "I know it sounds presumptuous of me, but I've had lessons, and I don't mind sharing a bit of what I've learnt with you – I mean, you live here and you've worked with some of the great singers, I'm sure you know a lot more than I do – "

"Elsa! Elsa, it's fine."Anna's eyes were fairly shining with excitement. "Yes! I'd love it if you could teach me!"

In her excitement, the young chorus girl had seized both Elsa's hands in hers; with a strangled yelp, the blonde girl pulled away.

"I'm sorry, but you shouldn't – I can't be touched." Anna noticed now; the other girl wore teal elbow-length gloves. "Sorry," she mumbled again, adjusting her gloves.

"Oh," she said. "No, _I'm_ sorry – "

" – it's fine," Elsa said, half-turning to leave.

Anna stood staring after her, mentally berating herself for having chased her new friend away with her thoughtlessness –

At the door leading back to the Opera House, Elsa paused, her hand on the latch.

"So… next Friday night, up here?" she asked shyly, a hint of a smile on her lips.

* * *

Clearly panicking, Weselton turned to Pabbie, who up until this point had been standing by silently. The tiny man clutched the front of Pabbie's shirt, much to the annoyance of the older man.

"What should we do? Without our star, we have no show! Without a show, we'll be ruined! Ooh, I knew I shouldn't have sold out all those advance tickets! I'll have to refund them all! I'll be bankrupt! Wait, did I say that out loud?"

The old stage manager said nothing. "Monsieur Weselton, with your leave, I would like to introduce a young singer to you."

"Now? At this moment?"

"She has been with the theatre for a while now, and has been receiving vocal lessons. Her father was Gustaf Nordheim."

"The violinist? I have heard of him. So his daughter can sing?" Weselton looked around. "Where is the girl?"

Pabbie glanced around, and spotted a flash of auburn braids disappearing at the corner of the stage. "Anna."

There was a squeaking sound; Anna timidly peeked around the curtain.

"You called?"

"Yes," Pabbie said, beckoning to her. "Would you sing for Monsieur Weselton?"

"M – me? You want _me_ to sing?" Anna and Kristoff exchanged baffled glances.

"Why would Pabbie say that?" asked the young man.

"I don't know! I mean, nobody knows about me and Elsa – "

" – wait, what?" He stared hard at her. Anna bit her lip.

"Come here first and let Monsieur Weselton see you," said Pabbie again.

She made her way out to the stage, the whispers of the other crew following her, silently mouthing an apology to Kristoff. Anna could still feel his gaze boring into her back.

Up close, Weselton was smaller than she had reckoned. "Not bad," he said appreciatively, circling her. The top of his head barely reached her chin. "Pretty. Why haven't you introduced me to her yet, Pabbie?"

"She is a chorus girl, not a singer yet," he said, exchanging glances with Bulda. The latter grimaced and made a cutting motion across her throat.

"Please, Monsieur, I haven't much vocal training…" ventured Anna.

Weselton waved his cane in a manner that suggested she stop talking. "Sing," he commanded. "Don't be afraid, child."

Anna's eyes moved from Pabbie's to Bulda's, and then Kristoff's. They smiled back and nodded encouragingly. Kristoff's gaze softened, and he smiled a lopsided grin that reassured her.

She took a deep breath and began to sing.

* * *

Somewhere beneath the Opera House, a familiar figure looked up, listening to the voice echoing through the halls.

"Anna?"

She hurried through the tight passageways, navigating an endless array of corridors and soon found herself in the lights rigging. After a quick check to make sure no one was around, Elsa stepped out and craned her neck forward to get a good view of the stage.

Anna stood in the centre, singing her heart out; she was surrounded by a semicircle of people, all rapt with attention.

The blonde girl smiled fondly.

* * *

Weselton applauded when the song came to an end. "Excellent!" he cried. "We will make a star of you yet."

A grin slowly spread across Anna's face. "… really?"

"Yes!" The owner took her hand, leading her away, babbling nonstop. "You've certainly got a little something there, nothing a few more practices won't hurt. Hmmm, for you, I suppose we'll put out one of the older operas, something we can throw together in a few weeks. Maybe a matinee or two."

Weselton spotted Kristoff and the tools hanging from his belt, and snapped his fingers. "You, boy! Take the girl to the costume department. Tell them we are doing _Hannibal_ and have her costume fitted."

"Uh – yes, Monsieur."

As they walked off together, Kristoff touched her arm. "You feel like telling me what just happened back there?"

Anna looked uncomfortable. "Okay, just don't get mad at me? I met this girl, Elsa, and she's been helping me with my singing." She tucked her hair behind her ear. "Kristoff, I really want to be a singer. Elsa's had lessons, she's been really nice to teach me some of the things she knows –"

He held up a hand and she stopped talking. "I'm not mad at you, Anna. I'm just a little surprised you didn't tell me you've been taking lessons." Kristoff's brow furrowed. "And you didn't tell me about this Elsa person."

"I'm sorry, Kristoff... it just seemed – magical. I couldn't believe it was happening..." She trailed off, looking so crestfallen he couldn't help but smile.

"It's fine, feistypants." The young man patted her shoulder. "Now let's focus on making you a star – oof!"

Anna had flung herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck and squeezing. "You're the best, Kristoff!" she squealed. "I'll introduce you to Elsa one of these days, I'm sure you'll love her!"

He awkwardly patted her back and pried her off, setting her back on the ground. "Yeah, okay," mumbled Kristoff, blushing furiously. "But what do you give this Elsa in return?"

"In return?"

"This is the real world, Anna," said Kristoff, waving a hand at their surroundings. "Nobody gives anybody something for free."

She looked perplexed. "I… really don't know… we just meet up once a week or so, and she tells me things, and I practice. We talk for a bit later." Anna bit her lip. "I guess we're just friends?"

He studied her closely. "I see."

* * *

Pabbie walked over to Weselton and touched his arm. "Monsieur, there is one thing I forgot to tell you," he whispered. "There is a legend about this place – "

Weselton snorted. "I am well aware of that story – there were no shortage of superstitious-minded idiots eager to share it with me when I was considering investing in this place."

"But I am a man of reason, I see no need to beware superstitions and _old wives' tales_." The last words were pronounced with a contemptuous snort.

The older man's face was grave. "You disrespect the Phantom at your own risk."

"There is no such thing as ghosts, especially in my Opera House," said the smaller man grandly. "I have big plans for this place, and if this so-called Phantom wishes to abide here, he must follow my rules."

Pabbie's expression never wavered. "As you wish, Monsieur."

* * *

In his dressing room, Hans sprawled indolently on a chaise lounge.

Any moment now, the tiny little weasel would come in, begging him to reconsider, and return to treading the boards…

The little Opera House needed him. Certainly, once upon a time it had been the grandest, most prestigious playhouse in the city – and the world, Paris being Europe's glittering jewel of culture.

But those times were past, and it desperately needed a singer of his talent and charm to keep the glory alive.

Hans shifted his weight.

It was only a matter of time.

There weren't any other singers the Opera House could turn to, after all.


	2. Lights

**Author's Notes:** By now, I think you'd have an idea of how the story is going to play out :)

* * *

To say that Hans was completely taken aback when he walked into the Opera House to find rehearsals in full swing was an understatement.

Anna was going through her lines (and trying her best to not trip over her own feet while following the dance steps) when a hush fell over the theatre.

She looked up and swallowed hard.

Hans' boots clicking against the wood was the only sound in the theatre as he walked up to Anna; his face was twisted into a scowl.

"… You." His eyes were unreadable. "The little girl."

"I…"

"What do you think you're doing?"

"She doesn't have to answer to you," said Kristoff furiously, coming from backstage to stand beside Anna.

"I believe I was talking to her," said Hans smoothly, "and not to you."

"What did you say – "

"Kristoff." She stilled his spluttering anger with a hand to his arm. "It's fine." Firming her lip, the younger girl stared straight into Hans' eyes.

"He's right. I don't have to answer to you. If you have problems with me and this play, you can talk to Monsieur Weselton."

He opened his mouth to speak – but something flickered in the singer's eyes. "… Very well," he said quietly. "I think I will. Good day." Hans spun on his heel and descended from the stage. Every eye watched him go, down the rows of velvet seats, up the stairs, and the doors closed behind him.

Babble erupted in the hall again. Anna exhaled. "That was scary."

"Tell me about it."

* * *

"… and then, he just walked out!"

Elsa smiled. "Really?"

"I know, right? I can't believe he just went so quietly!"

On the rooftop, the girls perched on the pedestal of the stone gargoyles, rapt in conversation. Elsa had tried and failed to make Anna pay attention to the vocal lesson.

"I just can't, Elsa," said Anna, flopping down over the pedestal, hand held over her face dramatically. "I'm just too keyed up over that."

The blonde girl sighed. "Come on, it's just an exercise to loosen your vocal cords."

"They're already loose, see? Or hear…" A series of dreadful notes filled the air.

Elsa pressed her hands to her ears. "Anna!"

"What?"

"That was dreadful!"

Anna grinned. "Really? I thought it was fine…"

"That wasn't _fine_," said Elsa firmly. "Frankly, that was terrible."

"I'm sorry." The smile faded from the younger girl's face.

"N– no, I apologise." The blonde girl smoothed down her hair and braid nervously, taking a deep breath to calm herself down. "Forget I said anything," she said, forcing a smile. "It wasn't that bad, really."

"Elsa..."

"Just leave it, alright?" she snapped, eyes widening as she realised how harsh it had come out. The blonde girl continued to fidget with her hair, looking everywhere but at Anna.

* * *

One of the earliest things Elsa could remember from her childhood was the silent, starched-apron woman. She looked after her needs, and taught her how to walk and talk.

And then just past her fourth birthday (a normal day, these occasions were never a cause for celebration), the woman brought her to an elegant apartment and left her in one of the rooms.

She was afraid.

The door clicked, and a woman walked in.

Elsa paused, her heart thumping wildly in her chest. "Mama?" she asked, the strange word learnt from her books.

The haughty-looking woman in rich clothes jerked back as though she had been slapped. "Don't call me that," she spat.

The little girl flinched, tears welling up in her eyes.

"I can't bear to look at you!" the woman exclaimed. "Here – put this on!" Something clattered to the floor at Elsa's feet. Slowly, she bent to pick it up; a blue mask, in the shape of a snowflake.

She tied it around her head.

The woman sighed irritably. "Much better. Elsa – come here, child."

She didn't need to be told twice. Elsa ran to the woman, her small hands clinging to the rich skirts, her eyes bright and round behind the mask.

"You can't call me Mama. I'm not your Mama, alright?"

"Yes, Ma – Madame."

A soft laugh. "Madame Marie. You can call me that."

"Yes, Madame Marie."

"Do you know who I am, Elsa?"

The little girl frowned. "No, Madame."

"I am a friend of your parents, child. They – abandoned you as a baby – "

"No!" Elsa backed away, her hands over her ears. "They wouldn't – "

She laughed. "Then who raised you, you ungrateful wretch?" Hands gripped Elsa's blonde hair, jerking it back painfully. She cried out.

"Listen carefully, because I will only say this once." The deep blue eyes of the woman blazed like azure fire. "You are alone in the world, Elsa. I will clothe you and feed you, but I do so only out of the goodness of my heart. Do not expect anything else from me. I am not your mother. Your nursemaid is gone and you will not see her again."

Elsa only sobbed.

The woman released her. "Clean yourself up," she said shortly, her clothes rustling as she left the room. "And make sure you wear that mask when I come to see you tomorrow."

* * *

The four walls of the luxuriously-furnished room constituted Elsa's world, populated by a bed, desk, bookcase, and windowseat.

Most of her time, when not visited by Madame Marie, was spent at the window, looking outside. The centrepiece was the large, white building that was lit up at night; sometimes, if she strained her ears, she could hear music.

"What's that place?" she asked once.

"The Opera House," said her guardian curtly. "You need not concern yourself with that."

"Why is there music coming from there? What kind of place is it?"

Marie's eyes flashed. "You ask too many questions."

* * *

"Elsa?"

The blonde girl gave a start, coming back rapidly to the present. "Anna," she said, forcing a smile. "What is it?"

The younger girl was staring at her curiously. "You just spaced out for a moment back there – is everything all right?"

"Yes – I was just reminiscing for a moment."

"Oh." Anna tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "About what?"

"Just – childhood memories – nothing important," she said, forcing a smile. "Ready to go back to your lesson now?"

"Do I have to?"

"Yes, Miss-Rising-Star-Debuting-Next-Week."

Anna gulped – and the tension between them dissolved in an instant. "When you put it like that…"

A soft smile tugged at Elsa's lips. "So what are you waiting for, then?"

* * *

Kristoff wasn't happy.

Anna could tell, from the way he slouched around the theatre. Although he was already an adult, and a head taller than her, his mannerisms were that of a small child.

And so when he disappeared in the evening, she knew to go to the lights rigging to find him.

"Kristoff?"

"What?" he grumbled, tinkering with the spotlight.

She sighed. "Are you mad at me?"

"I'm not mad at you." Kristoff nearly dropped the tool in his hand, swore, and blushed. "Sorry."

Anna smiled slightly. "Oh, come on." She walked closer, nudging him in the side with an elbow. "Best buddies and future ice business partners, remember?"

"Fine, fine…" He wiped his hands on a dirty rag hanging at his waist and turned to face her. "I can't believe this Elsa person is giving you singing lessons."

"Wait, what?" Her brow furrowed in confusion.

Kristoff sighed. "I'm sorry, but this whole thing – it just sounds strange."

"Kristoff…" She took a deep breath. "Okay. I'm sorry I didn't tell you about Elsa before, and I honestly don't know how Pabbie knew, because I didn't tell him." She fidgeted with one braid. "I never really gave any thought to paying, because it isn't really formal lessons."

He shook his head, smiling slightly. "I know, Anna. If you trust her – well, I don't have anything to say about that. But it'll be good if I could actually meet her…"

"… I'm not sure. Elsa's really shy…"

"Ah." His face darkened. "... Okay. It's not a problem."

She bit her lip.

* * *

Usually, Elsa always left the rooftop first. She gave the excuse of needing to be home before her mother so she could prepare the meal.

That was a lie that she had rehearsed over the years. Anna wasn't the first person to bump into the slender, sad-eyed girl in the Opera House. Many other stagehands, patrons, and performers had encountered Elsa; more frequently then than now – though they were never aware of it.

Elsa didn't have a real home any more.

* * *

Madame Marie had been harsh but not overly cruel; over time, her words became like pinpricks in Elsa's side. She had borne it with good grace, believing it couldn't get any worse.

It had.

The older woman had started behaving oddly after Elsa entered puberty. Her beatings grew more frenzied. The expletives she hurled became barbed, more cruel.

The more beautiful Elsa grew, the uglier Madame Marie became.

She began to do dangerous things that made the terrified girl fear for her life. Once, Elsa had woken up in the middle of the night being bundled into her closet. She'd screamed, banged the doors, begging, crying, pleading to be let out – the next morning, Madame Marie opened the doors without any expression as though nothing had happened.

The beatings became torture.

One day Elsa had enough. She planned her escape well; stealing a purse of gold coins from Madame Marie as she slept, she gathered up the few personal possessions she owned, and left that house for good for the only other place that she knew – the Opera House.

Sneaking in was easy – she'd found the hidden access to the rooftop. Once everyone had closed up for the night, she had free run of the place.

Over time, Elsa had explored every nook and cranny of the Opera House, finding hidden passageways and shortcuts lost over time; forgotten rooms, abandoned storage areas, hidden gems. It was a paradise to a lonely young girl with a big imagination.

And of course there was music.

Up in the secret room with the grand chandelier, Elsa had an unrivalled view of the operas staged. She watched them rehearse; now she was free, Elsa wanted nothing more than to learn the music that had filled her daydreams.

Sometimes, she dared to sneak into the dressing rooms to borrow old scripts and books – little things no one would miss in a hurry. Rumours spread, very slowly, of a blonde girl who haunted the theatre.

Her life was perfect, up until the purse grew dangerously light. And then fate intervened.

* * *

"Damn!" The portly man, still in full costume, was on his hands and knees backstage.

Another actor stopped by. "What's wrong, Signore Bertelli?"

"My pocketwatch," he said. "I've dropped it somewhere."

Something moved behind the heavy velvet curtain a little way off; Elsa made her way to the passageway that led below the stage. She'd seen where it had fallen earlier, while she was watching the performance.

It took a while to get into the passageway, and a little longer to find the watch even with a lantern in hand (very careful not to make any sound), but she had found it.

On a whim, she'd left the watch in Bertelli's dressing room with a note attached: "With compliments from the Phantom."

The next morning, the Opera House could talk of nothing else.

* * *

And from there, her legend had grown. The Phantom watched over performances; small mishaps were nipped in the bud. Things that went unnoticed and threatened the success of a performance came to the attention of the stagehands just in time.

They left money for her, little trinkets and tokens. Elsa's livelihood was set.

* * *

"You're early," said a bemused voice.

Anna squeaked in surprise.

There was a spark of amusement in Elsa's eyes. "Good evening to you too."

"Where'd you come from?"

"Huh?"

Anna pointed at the blank wall. "That's a solid wall. You just – materialized – from the wall. Like a ghost or something..."

Elsa looked faintly bemused. "No one can walk through walls, Anna. I just... know a shortcut."

"Show me," she demanded.

"Anna..."

The redhead blinked, noticing the reluctance in her friend's voice. "... okay, fine. Never mind."

"I'm sorry," said Elsa quickly. "I just take time warming up to people..."

"I'm not people, Elsa, I'm your friend." Soft teal eyes searched Elsa's face. "But it's okay, you don't have to tell me now?" Anna smiled warmly. "Maybe another day."

Hesitantly, the blonde girl returned the smile. "Another day," she echoed.

Anna smiled warmly, clambering up onto her favourite perch and arranging her skirts. A long silence passed, long enough for Elsa to shoot a questioning look at her companion.

The redhead was toying with the end of her braid, uncharacteristically pensive and subdued. Elsa understood; the opera was opening the following night.

"Hey."

The younger girl looked up. "Hmm?"

"You'll be fine," said Elsa with a shy smile. "

"I hope so, but I'm still such a klutz, the other day I almost tripped over the carpet – again – and hit one of the other actors in the face when we tried to dance. Bulda looked like she wanted to strangle me, especially after I ruined one of the backdrop pieces – "

"Anna."

She fell silent, smiling nervously. "Am I babbling again? Sorry."

Elsa daintily hid a laugh behind her hand. "No, don't apologise; I don't mind at all." She folded her hands in her lap; Anna tried to copy the graceful movement and ended up rumpling the lap of her skirt.

"You should be the one onstage," said Anna gloomily, apparently taking her inability to emulate her friend's elegance as a mortal blow to her confidence.

"Nonsense." Elsa shook her head. "It's just nerves talking."

Anna looked unconvinced; the older girl faltered for a moment, not knowing what else to say.

* * *

The theatre was in its usual mad rush of activity the night of a grand opening. People bustled about importantly, their arms filled to bursting with props and assorted items; actors clutched scripts in white-knuckled grips, mouthing lines.

In contrast to all the movement, Anna sat in her dressing room absolutely stock-still.

"Okay, Anna," she muttered. "You can do this."

Someone knocked at the door, and then came in without preamble.

"Hey," said Kristoff, "how're you feeling?"

"Great," said Anna, about two octaves higher than normal.

He couldn't help but smile. "You'll be fine." The burly young man patted her shoulder. "I was watching you the last rehearsal, you really shone."

She looked up at him. "Really?"

"Really."

Anna gave a shaky laugh. "If I mess up, promise you'll help me flee to Norway and then we'll set up our ice-harvesting business?"

"It's a promise," he grinned. "Now get out there and show them what you got, feisty pants."

She nodded. "Give me a moment to touch up, and I'll go."

"Alright then." He checked the small pocketwatch at his belt. "I've got to check the lights anyway. See you."

The door closed with a small click behind him, and Anna let out the breath she'd been holding.

She did feel a bit better after talking to Kristoff, but there was still this knot of fear, iced tight in her belly. It was all very well to perform well during a rehearsal, but that wasn't real.

This was real.

_You're not debuting a major production_, said a little voice in her head. _It's just a rerun. And nobody's expecting great things from you, you're just standing in for Hans._

Anna swallowed hard. All true, but even then...

The door swung open with a faint creak. Anna stood up shakily. "Yes, Kristoff, I'm coming..."

When she turned around, there was nobody there. Something lay on the floor.

It was a white crocus. Somewhere at the back of her mind, she wondered where the flower had come from, being out of season –

There was a note tied to the stem with a royal blue ribbon. She read it with shaking fingers.

"Good luck on your debut performance. With best wishes from the Phantom."

* * *

Pabbie waited patiently behind the curtain with the performers, a stoic figure in the middle of the chaos ("My makeup's smudged, touch that up for me, would you?" "Wait! I can't find my handkerchief!" "Careful, you'll rip your sleeve on my sword!")

Anna appeared at his elbow, pale even under the layers of makeup.

"Ready?" he asked gently.

"I was born ready," she responded, and he smiled.

The curtain lifted, and Anna walked out to centrestage without the slightest tremble.

* * *

From the lights above, Kristoff watched her as she spoke the lines as though they were her own. He smiled fondly and mouthed, "Great job, Anna."

* * *

Elsa was listening, as always, but this time she was careful to listen for the high, clear voice that was Anna's, that rose above the others.

* * *

The Phantom had an unrivalled view of the stage, being the person who knew the theatre's layout better than any person alive save for its mysterious architect. Not one movement of the girl onstage was missed.

As the last notes died away, a smile tugged at the Phantom's lips.

* * *

The curtain came down, and Anna breathed a sigh of relief at the tumultuous applause that filled the hall.

"You did well, Anna," said Pabbie, pride in his voice. "Your father would have been so proud." She was a little too overwhelmed and merely nodded, a lump in her throat.

Kristoff had come down from the rig, careful not to let his superior see him. "That was incredible!" he enthused, grinning from ear to ear.

Anna smiled and reaching over, squeezed his hand. Kristoff went a spectacular shade of scarlet but she was too distracted by the other cast members rushing over to congratulate her on her performance.

* * *

Once she had extricated herself from all the praise and celebrations, Anna's feet pattered as she raced up the stairs to the rooftop.

"Elsa!" she burst out excitedly.

But the dark figure that had started at the sound of her voice wasn't the slender blonde girl Anna knew.

This person wore a blue mask.

Behind the mask, eyes widened and the figure ran.

"Wait!" called Anna. She gave chase.

The figure was lithe and quick, but Anna knew the theatre almost as well as the stranger did. "I know you!" she said, desperately trying to get the figure to stop running. "You're the Phantom!"

The Phantom stilled.

"Thank you for the crocus," she said softly. "They're my favourite flower."

The figure gave a curt nod.

Anna opened her mouth – and the Phantom ran down the corridor.

"Hey, wait a moment!"

But she turned the corner and it was gone.

Somewhat out of breath, Anna made her way back to the rooftop.

"Hi," said Elsa shyly, closing the book in her hands.

"Elsa! There you are!"

The blonde girl looked confused. "We agreed to meet here, didn't we? After the show? Why would I be anywhere else?"

"I was up here just now, and – oh, Elsa – I saw the Phantom!"

The book fell from her slack grip.

"Wait, what?"

"I know!" Anna was flushed with excitement. "I came up here and thought I saw you, but it was him! The Phantom! Then he tried to run away and I chased him, but he managed to give me the slip."

"It is a ghost after all, Anna," said her friend wryly, "so I can imagine it would be a blow to his reputation if he got caught." She stooped to pick up the book, dusting off the cover. "Why were you chasing after the ghost – if there even is one – anyway?"

In answer, she held out the crocus. Elsa stared at it.

"It came with a note, tied with a blue ribbon." The redhead produced the note.

"Ghosts don't give presents..." said Elsa slowly.

Anna giggled. "Secret admirers do."

The blonde girl rolled her eyes. "Secret admirers are supposed to remain a secret."

"I think you're just jealous," said the younger girl in a sing-song voice.

Elsa just shook her head.


End file.
